


Postponing Infinity

by icedteainthebag



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Depressing, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-25 00:12:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4939285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedteainthebag/pseuds/icedteainthebag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your run-of-the-mill depressing last night together fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Postponing Infinity

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published to my old fic site on Feb. 27, 2000.
> 
> The inspiration for this verbose piece of work came to me while listening to Chopin’s Nocturne (Op. 9 mvt. 1, Op. 72 mvt. 1) and they will really set the mood if you listen to them. Not that you need them while you read. But it helps me to get all depressing and such.

She ran her hands down his chest, slowly, almost methodically, feeling his bare skin with cool trembling hands. He was warm, and she seemed to pull it from him, letting his heat travel through her fingertips to collect in a liquid pool inside her. Thought was pulled like taffy from each corner of her mind until it formed an emotional bundle of nerves in the center.

He grabbed her hands by the wrists as they hovered over his shoulders, pressing his lips against the top of her head and murmuring something indistinct with a long breath, burning hot, seeping into her hair and spreading moist against her scalp. She didn’t understand his words, but knew what he had said. His fingers caressed her wrists, palms moving up the top of her hands to calm their seemingly incessant shaking.

He held her hands there, pressing hard, the heat now circulating between the two of them at each contact point. Sighing, she leaned her forehead against the tender skin below his throat. She could feel his pulse and counted the heartbeats, every one of them passing quickly.

Do you realize, she had once said to him on a quiet Sunday morning, that every breath you take, every heartbeat that passes... that you’ll never live that moment in time again?

He had smiled at her as she sat cross-legged in her chair at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee with a teaspoon of creamer. Why think of it that way, he had answered, when you know that you have hundreds of thousands more of them to look forward to?

And she had listened, absorbing his philosophies of the infinity of motions; the patter of a heart, the quickening of breath, soft idiosyncrasies people took for granted, so accustomed to them that they passed without a hint of afterthought.

Until now.

“I want to capture this,” she whispered, breath stroking his chest like delicate fingers. “Every motion, every feeling... Mulder... I want all of it inside me, in my memories.” His hands tensed against hers, squeezing gently, comforting in silence. “Is that too much to ask?”

“No,” he whispered through silky red strands of hair. “I just wish I had...”

Lifting her head, she looked into his eyes and his voice trailed off. “Don’t talk anymore,” she said gently, finding his gaze lost, desperate. “Please...”

His mouth met hers, lips and teeth and tongue all together, and she inhaled deeply through her nose, sliding her arms around his neck and pulling herself up in a common attempt to equal differences in height. Her lower back was soon entertained by the hands she had grown to love, to need in ways she had never known existed before him.

Mouths never parting, they made contact with the bed behind him, easing down next to each other. She began blindly tearing at his dress shirt, the little buttons frustrating her with every numb-fingered tug at the eyelets. He stopped her frantic motions with one hand, clutching at her wrists and in slipping his tongue from her mouth presented a gentler kiss, unhurried, the passion that consumed him restrained in the moment.

Her hands relaxed and she let them drop as he moved his satin lips to her jaw. Patient fingers worked up each side of her shirt from her pants, fingertips on the heated skin of her waist. He pulled away for an instant and she lifted her arms, almost automatically, for him to remove her shirt and toss it away in one fluid motion.

Her pale skin was darkened in the dim room; warm colors set upon her body and her eyes as the soft lamplight bounced off of tan walls and the navy bedspread. He ran his fingers over the side of her neck and she tilted her head to the side, feeling each of them gently trail along paths of skin. Never did she take her eyes from him; their gaze locked as he slid a finger down between her breasts.

The clasp came undone with a few rough tugs and each side parted; her breath caught in her throat, as if it were their first time all over again. His eyes still ran hungry with desire down the smooth skin of her chest, one hand taking its time claiming a breast to cup and knead softly.

It was as if it was all in slow motion, each tiny movement of their bodies, every second an eternity. He leaned in, kissing the exposed side of her neck and catching her nipple between two pressing fingers. She felt the first sensation of goosebumps threatening to take over her body in place of the melancholic straining of her emotions.

Feeling the silken straps slip down her shoulders and arms over prickling skin, she shook them loose of her hands before wrapping slender arms around him, pulling him closer, pulling him down on top of her. He didn’t resist but drew his lips away, his face hovering over hers.

Their eyes had always conveyed unspoken messages, and tonight was no exception. She felt his eyes turn dark and serious under half-closed lids as she caressed his stubbled cheek.

They began urgently kissing again, forgetting everything past the bedroom window; the world, the time, minutes draining from their lives at an uncontrollable pace. At this moment, there was nothing beyond their existence in this moment, this night softly lit in her room.

Kissing all over her face, taking time on her forehead and ears, he savored every touch of his lips to her skin, the soft contrast between hot against cool, salty and sweet. She accepted him between her legs, feeling the heavy weight of his body press her into the bed. Hands running everywhere--his toned back, tight neck, soft hair--clutching, kneading, tugging and pulling him closer.

His mouth moved down her chest and she arched her back to greet his soft admonitions, slipping hands through his hair, pulling his mouth to her aching nipples.

“I could look at you for hours,” he whispered, laying his head against her breast and looking up into her eyes. “Like art... you’re like art. Beautiful... priceless art.” His hand slid down her side and she sighed, twirling her fingers in his hair and smiling softly at him.

“I want to memorize you, so much that... I could paint a picture of you, if I could paint. You know?” he murmured with a small laugh, raising his eyebrows until she nodded approval. “I want to see all of this in my head, for the rest of my life.”

Flushing slightly as she smiled, teeth barely showing, she ran her fingers down his face as he turned to kiss the tender underside of her breast. “You’ve seen me enough... you should know it all by now.”

He looked up at her through stray locks of hair that hid his glassy eyes, like wisps of cloud shielding the moon. “I want to know it all again.”

******

It was over. Hours like days, minutes like seconds, soft pleasured tremors subsiding more slowly than usual. He nestled in the crook of her shoulder as they caught their breath. She wrapped her arm around his head and pulled him between her breasts, his cheek pressed against her skin and sticking with a light mist of sweat. The light tickle of his hair was something her body had never gotten accustomed to. He sighed as her hand kneaded the tense muscles at the top of his shoulder, breathing in the smell of worn perfume.

“Maybe it won’t come,” she whispered, her lips pressed against his hair. He tucked his hand around her side and hugged tighter.

It took him a moment to respond, taking a deep breath. “The morning. The daylight.”

She nodded, knowing he couldn’t see it. He turned over on his back and pulled her with him. She liked the switching of positions; his chest, though fairly well-muscled, made a good pillow.

The lazy tracing of his fingers, up and down her spine, relaxed her to the state of near-dream, jumping awake at the first tinge of sleep. “I won’t fall asleep,” she breathed against his chest. It moved up and down like calming ocean waves, slower and slower.

“I won’t either.” His voice was distant and soft as his fingers began to slow on her back.

“Stay awake,” she whispered, nudging her cheek against him, finding his heart and resting there.

“I am.”

And she listened to each elemental heartbeat as the rhythm lulled her to sleep.

******

Birds sang. The alarm beeped. He rustled. She breathed; his heart beat, endlessly, into her ear.

They had been unsuccessful in delaying the arrival of morning; like days before, the sun had risen, one of hundreds of sunrises they had shared together.

They would go on, like her breathing. Like his heartbeat.

She rolled over and shut off the alarm, wondering what harm it would cause if she just fell back asleep. Staring at the clock, the minutes passed by one by one. 7:10. 7:11. 7:12.

He rolled over onto his side, drawing her against his chest and pressing his face to the back of her neck. She basked in the strength of muscled arms, the warmth of his being as he surrounded her body.

“Don’t leave.” She closed her eyes, knowing his answer.

“I have to.”

“Take a shower first.”

“I shouldn’t.”

She knew he was right.

******

She walked him to the door in a loose robe; side by side, they slowly made their way, wishing it was miles instead of feet. And then they were there, too quickly for the both of them. He turned to her, his eyes focused on the carpet. She felt a lump in her throat as panic started to set in, flipping her stomach upside down. Casting her eyes to the side, she looked out the window, cursing the daylight.

He touched her hand and she grasped his fingers tightly, knowing he was looking at her. She gulped, gathering the courage to do the same.

It took minutes, transformed into hours in her mind. The sun streaked rays of light across the living room and she watched dust particles dance in the haze. Finally, she looked up into his eyes, biting her lower lip and feeling a tremble throughout her body.

He pulled her hard against him and she buried her face into his chest. “No,” she whispered. “No, no... don’t.”

“Scully,” he whispered back, his arms tightly wrapped around her waist. It was an effort to breathe; he set his chin atop her head, then kissed her there, a hand moving up her spine to caress her hair.

“Don’t leave,” she demanded softly, the first hot threat of tears rimming her eyes. “There has to be another way. Please.”

“You...” he began, taking a deep breath in the middle of his thoughts, constricted by the strain of his throat. “You know we can’t.”

A soft sob. And one more. Her chest wasn’t strong enough to hold them in, the soft whimpers muffled against his chest.

He lost his strength then; with a muffled moan they leaned against each other, heads tilting up to meet in a salty kiss. For the hundredth time, she tasted his tears.

“I love you,” she murmured against his lips, kissing him harder. His fingers tensed against the back of her head, holding her there. Finally, he released his grip and she pulled back, searching his eyes for an answer to the burning question inside both of them. Why now? Why ever?

“I love you too.” Another solitary tear ran down his cheek and he didn’t bother to wipe it away. She kissed it, leaving her lips in its place.

He felt for the door behind him, turning the knob and listening to the ominous click of the latch as it came open. “We can’t do this to each other...”

She nodded, her lip twitching once before she bit it into submission between trembling jaws, feeling the skin slip away. Opening the door wider, he turned away slightly, and then looked back at her, fear and uncertainty reflecting in his eyes.

“Mulder...” she whispered, putting her hand on his arm and getting on tiptoes to kiss him again. His hand brushed over her face. A final kiss, a final brush of the hand--the infinity of it was at its end as he pulled away.

“I’ll never forget listening to you breathe... feeling every heartbeat against my hands, my lips... everything,” he whispered back, his fingers tracing down her jawbone.

She nodded, unable to speak as the last tingles of his touch lingered on her face. She could see him, a liquid vision through a wall of tears; staring into her eyes, he began to close the door. The wall washed away as the sliver of hallway light was cut short by the soft rustle of wood against wood. She stood still, her hand against the door, pressing her ear against it to hear his footsteps as he walked away.

“Why think of it that way,” she whispered, “when you know that you have thousands more of them to look forward to.”


End file.
